Unworthy
by Griselda Banks
Summary: Oneshot. Royai. Postseries mangaverse. When I look at you, all I can think is...I don't deserve you.


**Author's Note: Those who have known me for a while could tell you that I detest Valentine's Day. I abhor it. All the pink frilly fluffy hearts and cupids and just...blech. Valentine's Day is a horrible stain on the wonderful month of February that just seems to promote all the wrong ideas about love - namely, that love is a feeling. I am _so_ tired of love being talked about as if it's a feeling. So I always try to write something for Valentine's Day to prove how love isn't a feeling, though feelings are often attached. No, love is a _decision._ A _commitment._ And who better to demonstrate what true love is than Mustang and Hawkeye? I doubt this is very original or profound, but this year I felt an irrepressible urge to write about them. Because they're just that awesome.**

**Another thing I should note is that I spell Hawkeye's first name Liza. I'm aware that's not the canon spelling; this is just my preference. To me, it looks prettier and captures her personality better than Riza. Feel free to disagree, but I thought I should warn you ahead of time.  
><strong>

_And at last I see the light  
>And it's like the fog has lifted<br>And at last I see the light  
>And it's like the sky is new<br>And it's warm and real and bright  
>And the world has somehow shifted<br>All at once everything looks different  
>Now that I see you<em>

_- "I See the Light" from Tangled_

When Liza Hawkeye stepped over the threshold into the hospital room she had been sharing with Colonel Mustang, she saw that the men were gone, and in their place sat Dr. Marcoh. She had grown so used to the bustle of activity as they all did their part to compensate for their commander's sudden loss of sight, that the silence now seemed eerie. The hush seemed intensified by the dim lighting; the overhead light had been turned off and the curtains closed, as though this was the sickroom of some doddering old man whose eyes were sensitive to light.

Of course. Even if the colonel's sight could be restored, it would probably be sensitive at first, like someone who had been blindfolded in a dark room for days suddenly brought into the light again. Liza's heart made an odd flip-flop as she crossed over to her bed. Was this really happening?

"Ah, Lieutenant Hawkeye," the old doctor said, his smile twisting his mangled face. "We decided not to begin until you returned."

Liza looked at Mustang, and understood that to mean that he had requested it. She supposed that was just as well, in case...

"What did they say?" Mustang asked, looking in concern at a vague point over her left shoulder.

"It's healing." She touched the bandage around her neck gingerly. "Mei did her job well."

"Shall we begin?" Marcoh suggested, heaving himself to his feet. "I thought we should do it on the floor, to prevent any danger of falling." With a small grunt of effort, he knelt on an empty stretch of the floor and began to draw a large transmutation circle. Liza wanted to help him, but as she knew no alchemy and Mustang couldn't see, all they could really do was wait and watch.

At first, Liza perched on the edge of her bed, but after a few moments, Mustang wordlessly held out one of his bandaged hands. After a moment's hesitation, she crossed over to Marcoh's vacated chair and gently clasped his hand in her own. A thrill ran up her spine; it felt so...daring and risky, to be sitting here _touching_ him. She knew there was no point concealing it anymore, since it had already been exploited, but she had grown so used to restraining herself that this felt horribly vulnerable. Mustang laced his fingers through hers, and Liza felt heat creeping up her cheeks.

Everything was different now, and not just because there were no more Homunculi at the head of the country. There could be no more pretending there wasn't something going on between them. If Marcoh's transmutation didn't work, and Mustang remained blind...he would have to leave the military. And if it _worked..._everything would still change. She would be the one to leave the military, or she would transfer to someone else's command; there was no other way.

No other way...to get married. Another shiver ran up her spine; Mustang glanced in her direction even though he wouldn't be able to see, but Liza gently patted his hand to reassure him. It had been so long since she had dared to even think about that.

"_Will you marry me?"_

"_Wh-What? Sir, I plan to stay in the military and work under your authority until you become Fuhrer. No one can suspect, or I would be nothing but a liability to you."_

"_Then we'll wait. Put it off until the day I _do_ become Fuhrer."_

"_Don't you realize that could take ten years? Twenty? You're only a lieutenant colonel; you still have so far to go. I couldn't do that to you."_

"_Hawkeye...Liza. There's no one else for me, and there never will be. No one else could ever know me as well as you do...and still love me for what I am. I'm ready to wait for as long as it takes. So...what do you say?"_

She'd accepted his proposal, of course. How could she not? He had the liberty to say there could never be another, but for her it was literally true. She could never let anyone else see her back, after all. That was her father's curse. It was a good thing that the man worthy of those secrets was the one she loved.

But was it enough? Maybe he knew that he was the only one she could possibly marry. Maybe that was why he had offered. Maybe he had thought about this as he tended to the burns on her back, and decided in true Mustang fashion that if that was what it took to protect her, he would fill that role.

"I'm ready."

Shaking herself from her reverie, Liza stood up and looked at Marcoh's transmutation circle. Though she had no idea what the symbols meant, it looked complex, as was fitting for such a delicate operation. Liza tried to help Mustang out of bed, but he waved her out of the way impatiently. Then he seemed to realize he didn't know where the circle was, so he gingerly laid a hand on Liza's shoulder. She obliged and directed him to the circle, making sure he lay down in the center.

"Don't worry, Hawkeye," he said, smiling and gazing into space. "Everything will turn out all right."

Kneeling down next to him and making sure the smile seeped into her voice, she said softly, "That's my line."

He reached for her hand one last time and squeezed it gingerly, then let go and turned his attention to Marcoh. While the doctor directed him not to move or struggle and explained the process he would be using, Liza watched the play of emotions on his face. He looked nervous, but determined. Cautiously hopeful. Looking to the future, as always.

She didn't deserve someone like him. Someone who would give up so much, deny himself so often, just because of a promise made when they were so much younger. What could she offer him in return, really? How could she compensate for all he had given her?

Liza Hawkeye was nowhere close to an ideal wife. She had spent so long in the military that skirts felt strange, and when she saw civilian women doing their shopping or laughing daintily behind their hands, she realized she had forgotten how to be feminine. She had never even worn makeup. She never fussed over her hair in the mirror; she just clipped it up out of the way and focused on more important things.

Maybe Mustang wouldn't mind...but Liza wanted to be the best for him. And yet she had passed her prime, left behind the bloom of youth. She'd never been beautiful, but what few appealing features she used to have were long gone in the long, hard years of being a soldier. Her skin was rough and sun-darkened rather than creamy and smooth. Her arms and legs were bulky from the muscles rather than soft and slender. Her hands were hard and callused rather than dainty and gentle. Besides, her body was marred and broken. Her entire back was covered with ugly black marks and puckered burn scars.

Who would want such an ugly woman?

Liza stared hard at Mustang, who lay still with his eyes closed. He could almost be sleeping, but for the blue glow of alchemy and the pained expression on his face. He, on the other hand, had always been good-looking. He'd always made heads turn. With his looks and charm, he could easily have any woman he wanted. She knew his persona as a playboy was only a ruse to keep people off his scent, and that all of his 'girlfriends' were actually adopted sisters...but it was still true. He could easily have so much better than this broken shell.

She couldn't even be like Gracia Hughes, who was plain but acted the part of a perfect wife. As annoying as Hughes's ramblings could be, Liza had to admit that he was right about every praise that gushed from his mouth. Gracia was so gentle and kind, so sweet and supportive. She could cook wonderful meals, arrange a beautiful flower garden, take care of her daughter, and still have a smile on her face. Liza knew she could never do the same. And if she couldn't...what on earth did she have to offer?

When the light dissipated again, Liza thrust her thoughts aside and leaned closer. Had it worked? What would they do if it had failed, even with the Philosopher's Stone?

Slowly, Mustang opened his eyes. They remained unfocused for an instant, but when he blinked, they locked onto hers. Liza could see the spark of recognition in his eyes, the instantaneous connection that always passed between them when they looked at one another. Her heart was lodged in her throat, growing more and more painful as his expression softened.

"Hawkeye..." he whispered, while Marcoh pretended to be busy with his equipment. "You're so beautiful."

Warmth rushed up her entire body, dissolving the lump in her throat. She pulled him into an embrace before he could even sit up, and pressed her face into his shoulder so he wouldn't have to see her cry. "I love you," she choked out.

He returned the embrace as though this was something they did every day. "I know."

* * *

><p>Dr. Marcoh had just finished his preliminary examinations and explained that the Truth seemed to have taken his optic nerve and left the rest of his eyes intact when the door opened. Roy Mustang looked up, even though he knew it was useless. He strained his ears, searching for some kind of defining sound that would clue him in to who had just walked in. Thankfully, Marcoh saved him. "Ah, Lieutenant Hawkeye. We decided not to begin until you returned."<p>

Roy tried to follow the sounds of Hawkeye moving towards him, wishing more than ever that he could see her face so he could instantly tell whether she brought good or bad news. "What did they say?" he asked anxiously. The doctors had mentioned that they might have to operate.

But she said calmly, "It's healing. Mei did her job well."

Roy let out the breath he'd been anxiously holding. She had nearly died through his negligence, and he'd been afraid that she might have to leave the military altogether. And all because he'd been too reckless and gone and got her artery sliced open...

"Shall we begin?" Marcoh said, and Roy heard him get up and move to the foot of the bed. "I thought we should do it on the floor, to prevent any danger of falling."

Roy nodded, not that it would do any good. He wouldn't be able to help anyway; he didn't have the medical knowledge to start with, so he couldn't just clap and use the Stone, nor could he help with Marcoh's circle when he couldn't even see what he was doing. Instead, he just had to sit in his bed and wait and hope.

Even though he had only been blind for a matter of days, it was surreal to think that he would soon be able to see again...hopefully. He had to put his faith in the most skilled alchemic doctor in the country – after all, if anyone could perform this transmutation, Marcoh could – but there was still so much uncertainty. What if Marcoh was wrong about what the Truth had taken? What if it didn't work to create an entirely new optic nerve for him? What if there was something fundamentally impossible about it all? Alphonse had had to give up his soul to retrieve Edward's arm, and Edward had given up his alchemy to bring Alphonse back. Would Marcoh have to give up something just as precious? Would _he?_

He had almost lost so much already. Roy suddenly felt very alone as the possibilities opened up before him, as the memories of the Promised Day came flooding back. He held out his hand toward Hawkeye's bed, where he thought he had heard her sit down. After a bit of rustling, he heard her lower herself into the chair by his bed, and then he felt warm fingers closing around his.

An electric tingle shot up his arm and ran down his spine. It wasn't as though they had never touched before – they had kept an arm firmly about each other after he had gone blind, so as not to lose each other in the chaos of the Promised Day. They had even kissed once, a long time ago. A very long time ago. He laced his fingers through hers, wondering what she was thinking. He was just glad she wasn't pulling away.

Even with the many opportunities for private conversation that came with sharing a hospital room, they had said precious little to each other that didn't have to do with Ishbal, the political turmoil in the wake of the death of half the top brass, or how their wounds were healing. There was a question that hung over their heads, like a cloud that never quite grew heavy enough for rain. They never spoke of it, even though they both knew they would have to, and soon:

_What about us?_

As hard as it had been to keep quiet about how strongly he felt towards Hawkeye, to not even let a smile linger too long, Roy had grown used to the status quo. Even though there were times when he could barely restrain himself, they could be comfortable in their roles. Now he didn't know what to do or say. Nothing could be gained from pretending he _didn't_ love her, not after his enemies had taken her hostage, sliced open her throat, and threatened to let her die if he didn't go along with their plans.

As if her thoughts mirrored his own, Hawkeye shuddered slightly. Roy looked over at her, wishing once again that he could see her expression. He felt so _useless_ like this, not even knowing how he could reassure her. The best he could do was rub the back of her hand with his thumb and remind himself that soon, he would be able to look her in the eye again.

Yes...and then what? Once they could be sure that neither of them would have to leave the military and could keep working towards his ultimate goal, they would have to also discuss how to handle their relationship. Where did they go from here? ...Marriage?

After burning her back beyond recognition, he had asked her, and she had said yes. But that was a long time ago, and they'd both had plenty of time to think better of it. Not that he was any less willing to claim her as his own; he wanted nothing more. But in the long years since he had made that promise to her, he had realized something that turned his heart cold every time he thought of it: Hawkeye had probably said yes because she had no other choice.

Suddenly Marcoh's voice broke into his dark reverie. "I'm ready."

Hawkeye's hand moved under his elbow to help him up, but he pushed her aside. He hated feeling so weak and helpless, having to rely on her for everything. But as soon as he stood, he realized he had no idea where to go, so he lightly put his hand on her shoulder and let her lead him as she had ever since he had lost his sight. He had always relied on her, always depended on her being there to support him and help him even when he was too stubborn to ask for it. Maybe it was just presumption on his part to ask her to marry him, so that she would always be there to help him.

He lay down on the cold floor and felt her kneel next to him while Marcoh clinked around with various bottles and instruments on the other side. Roy listened to the uneven sound of Hawkeye's breathing, and felt the faintest touch as she brushed his hair out of his eyes. He imagined her expression, and hoped it wasn't as frightened as he imagined. "Don't worry, Hawkeye," he said, trying to smile. "Everything will turn out all right."

He could hear the smile in her voice, but also the fear. "That's my line."

Reaching for her hand again, he squeezed it as firmly as he could with the bandages swathed around it, then let go. The familiar ring and crackle of alchemy burst up around him, and he felt a strange tickling around his eyes. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it felt uncomfortable. He tried not to move too much and let the alchemy do its work. To keep his mind off his anxiety, he turned his thoughts back to Hawkeye.

Yes, she had agreed to marry him, but did she really have any other choice? Roy would never forgive his old master for what he had done to her. Effectively, he had made it impossible for her to get close to any man but the one 'worthy' of his secrets. No one else could see her back, not even now that it was rendered illegible. If anyone else saw it, they would start to put two and two together, and that would be dangerous for them both. The only way that Hawkeye could protect herself from that would be to marry him and close off the possibility of becoming close with another man.

That was all well and good, but what if she regretted this? There could have been any number of men that attracted her, yet she was bound to him, so she could do nothing. She had been loyal to him all these years, cleaned up after him, kept him in line, done everything a man could expect from a wife...but really, she had no choice.

Roy Mustang was far from an ideal husband. He was nothing but a jailer.

Wasn't that what Hawkeye had said, when she pleaded with him to burn her back? _"Help me escape my father and flame alchemy. Let me become my own Liza Hawkeye."_ But even though he had done what she asked, she was little better off than before. She had thrown off the shackles of Berthold Hawkeye only to lock herself into the prison of Roy Mustang.

And she could do so much better. It was because of him that she had joined the military and devoted her whole life to making him the Fuhrer. All these years, she could have been dancing at parties, turning heads everywhere she went, quietly falling in love with some respectable businessman far away from Central, run an orderly household, even begun to raise children. But because of him, she had wasted those years in the hard and callous life of a soldier. She had gone through hell and back, been weighed down with more burdens than anyone should bear, and all because she believed in his stupid ideals.

He didn't deserve her. He never had. Roy wondered at his own arrogance in asking her to marry him. She had never even said anything when he had said, _"There's no one else for me, and there never will be."_ Maybe she had only accepted his proposal out of a sense of obligation. And if that were the case, he knew the only thing to do was release her from it. Though he wanted nothing more than to clutch her to himself and never give her up, he couldn't force her to do this anymore.

It took him a few moments to realize that the tickling sensation had died down and the room was silent once more. The transmutation was over. Slowly, Roy opened his eyes, his heart leaping into his throat when they flooded with light. At first, he couldn't figure out what he was looking at, but when he blinked his vision cleared and he saw...an angel.

Even in such a short time, he had forgotten what Hawkeye looked like. The light from a curtained window created a soft golden halo around her head. Her chestnut-brown eyes shone down at him, lit with concern. He drew in a breath, his heart pounding, and breathed, "Hawkeye...you're so beautiful."

Her eyes filled with tears and her eyebrows drew together, something he had only seen once or twice in the whole time he had known her. She jerked him off the floor and held him tightly, the way he had held her when she had almost died. "I love you," she said in a strangled voice.

Golden light poured into his soul, warm relief and unmitigated joy. How could he ever have doubted? How could he have forgotten how she gave up all desire to keep living without him, or how persistently she kept him on the right track, or how she had never left his side all this time? He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips against the side of her neck, breathing in the scent of bandages and her hair. "I know," he murmured.


End file.
